


The Essence of Respite

by inkysparks



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Asexual Gavin Reed, Big brother Connor, Gavin Reed grows as a person, Happy Ending, Internalized Acephobia, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Peaceful Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Romantic Relationship, Sex-Repulsed Gavin Reed, growing relationship, reference to past sexual assault, soft nines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 10:58:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19105726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkysparks/pseuds/inkysparks
Summary: Gavin's life and his relationships have mostly been a bad roller coaster, shoddily taped together with a series of questionable decisions and his own less than stellar judgment.He's never been able to delude himself into feeling like he's better off alone, but he's mostly resigned to it anyway.When Nines shows up in his life, it's the first time he finds someone he really wants to be better for.





	The Essence of Respite

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted to write an ace Gavin because I haven't seen too much of that around and we need more rep!
> 
>  
> 
> So, a couple of disclaimers for this one.
> 
> Gavin is not really a happy guy here, although he's learning to be better. However, this story features a fair amount of internalized acephobia, as well as an allusion or two to past sexual assault (committed against Gavin). 
> 
> It's not very graphic but I try to explore Gavin's feelings a little, not all of which are super healthy. They're a window into his generally not great state of mind regarding his identity and what happened to him, so be advised if that sort of thing bothers you.

 

The revolution comes and goes, and like molasses, two years manage to pass. Gavin’s been in therapy and anger management classes for the better part of it, and he’s made… progress. It’s not perfect, he’s not perfect, will definitely never be, but it’s - well, it’s better than nothing, even if it mostly feels like too little, too late.

The reason he went in the first place was because of Nines. He was cold and aloof after he showed up in the department the first time, and Gavin mostly assumed that's how he normally was until he realized he was avoiding Gavin pretty specifically. For all of his imposing stature and the cool, silver gaze, Nines actually has little trouble being civil and pleasant to others. Connor and him are quickly inseparable, he’s close with Hank and Fowler, friendly with everyone else. But Gavin, he avoids. He’s not rude about it, but his back becomes stiff when he enters the room, eyes skirting away.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out why; he’s seen Connor and Nines interfacing, and there’s no doubt Nines is privy to every ugly detail of his past. And - he's pissed about it, sort of, maybe, except he's also mostly pissed at himself for… being like That. For messing things up, because for some reason Nines’ aloofness stings more than it should.

So, for the first time in his life, Gavin makes an effort to tackle his issues and become less… awful? A part of him grouses, even though he knows it’s more or less true. Change is painful. It dredges up thoughts and memories he’d fought very hard to forget, and he hates every minute of it, but even _he’s_ capable of recognizing that something had to give.

Nines warms up to him eventually, especially when he sees that Reed is really trying. It starts with an apology to Connor, even though he’s red-faced with embarrassment about it and hightails out of the room the moment he’s done speaking, without waiting for an answer. And it takes Gavin reaching out too, tentatively, trying to make Nines see… something. That he’s not a threat? Not quite the same person that had gut-punched Connor in the break room?

It starts with a soft greeting, mumbled too low for nearly anyone to hear, but it’s the first time in years that Gavin’s reached out to another person with an offer of friendship. And against all odds, it somehow works.

They become friends, circling each other slowly at first. They make dumb, idle small talk, greet each other politely, and the whole time Gavin feels like he’s walking on eggshells. He doesn’t trust it at all, not until he slips and makes some snarky comment that Nines takes in stride, with a half-smile and a quirk of one eyebrow. Gavin, at last, feels like he can exhale.

They start spending a lot of time together outside of work, first at different bars and fast food joints, then watching tv on Gavin's couch, sitting on opposite ends but at least in companionable silence or comfortable, easy conversation. They talk about work sometimes, but other times they talk about whatever movie they’ve just watched, spinning theories, or about books, or about life. Gavin’s surprised at every piece of information he uncovers about Nines. It feels like digging for fossils, finding hidden things to wonder at inside of someone.

He likes animals. He’s clean and particular about his wardrobe, but has a surprisingly horrendous taste in fiction. He’s good at everything except cooking, and after Gavin manages to teach him how to make pancakes, he gives him up as a lost cause.

His eyes are bright, and he’s got a warm voice, deeper and smoother than Connor’s. He always smells good.

He’s probably going to make Lieutenant one day.

He loves Connor with the fondness of a younger brother, even though he sometimes feels inadequate standing next to him. A ridiculous notion. Gavin has long gotten over his dislike of Connor, but Nines is - well, he’s just more _everything_.

He doesn’t have a name. He was never given one besides the nickname that Hank of all people had bestowed upon him. All his paperwork just says RK900.

For some reason, he likes spending time with Gavin.

Gavin doesn't have a whole lot of friends. Maybe any if he really thinks about it, really considers that most people can't stand him and put up with him only to keep up an appearance of professionalism. He can't blame them, even when he's rejected after he attempts to make his amends.

He understands, but it's still lonely and it still hurts, which he realizes he deserves but it doesn't make his apartment feel any less cold or empty. Not until Nines starts showing up regularly with food, or with books, or once with a stray kitten he finds under the hood of a parked car.

She’s tiny, much too young to be away from her mother, and Nines spends almost three weeks practically living at Gavin’s place so they can take turns with nighttime feedings. She pulls through, and by then Gavin loves her too much to let her go, so he sucks it up, buys a cat tree, and names her Piper. She stays. Nines starts coming by more often so he can play with her.

It's good. It feels like a soft, tentative beginning of something, and Gavin is determined not to fuck it up.

Over time, him and Nines drift closer, go from sitting on opposite ends of the couch to sitting next to each other, in increasingly more intimate ways. And it feels nice to be touched, he can't remember the last time anyone - well, it doesn't matter. What matters is that Nines sometimes puts an arm around him, or sits with his legs in Gavin's lap, or occasionally looks at him like he wants to say something but doesn't know how. Gavin’s in a twist over it, stuck in some hellish place between happiness and fear, loving every second of the attention but forever anxious that it’s all about to crumble right in front of him. He’s never had someone like this before.

Sometimes, he shares bits of himself. He doesn’t think he’s ever done that before with anyone besides his therapist. He doesn’t really like to do it, but it feels wrong not to when Nines has been nothing but honest and forthcoming with him. So he talks. Very little about his childhood if he can help it, but enough for Nines to figure out why he only keeps water and soda in the house. He talks about why he became a cop, about each of the scars he’s collected over the years. Not the one on his face. That one still hurts to think about, but he thinks that maybe one day.

It’s almost… nice. Nines doesn’t judge, but he doesn’t pity or make excuses for him either. He takes it all in stride, processes it like he processes all other data. Although, Gavin thinks, maybe there’s something a little softer in his eyes.

The night that Nines kisses him, he panics.

Not because it's unpleasant or even unwanted, but because people always want more after this, and they tend to bail when they figure out that he won’t — can't — give it. Or worse.

He makes a show of smiling, of tucking himself into the Nines’ side and pretending that his heart isn’t lodged somewhere in his throat, beating out a terrified, erratic rhythm.

He sits on his bathroom floor after Nines leaves. He wheezes helplessly into the crook of his own elbow, rubbing his face, because he can't, he can't lose this, not the last thing in his life he hasn't ruined yet. He has to find a way to keep it, because he can't lose Nines. Once Nines is gone he'll truly be all alone, and he knows, he knows it's all his fault but he's sure he can't live like this.

Nines deserves someone who will give him all the things that he wants. The full human experience. If he's anything like Connor, who leaves hickeys all over Hank's neck almost daily, he's not going to be satisfied with half a relationship.

The next time they kiss, Gavin's determined to power through it. If he can just. Clear his mind and breathe and just pay attention to Nines, and not think about where this is going, he can do this. He settles into a somewhat mechanical facsimile of participation, feeling numb and weirdly distant.

Nines, of course, stops immediately and gently asks what's wrong. And Gavin locks up because he can't say it, but he realizes can't do this, either. He curls into himself on the couch, shaking with the need to explain but unable to open his mouth, trying to put together thoughts far too scattered to make whole.

When Nines gets up to leave, Gavin's convinced that this is it, it's going to be like all those other times, but then Nines returns only a little later with a heavy blanket and arms full of junk food. He wraps the blanket around Gavin and holds him to his chest, gentle hands drifting into his hair. And something inside of Gavin just cracks, and he spills everything, apologizing to Nines; for leading him on, for not being enough, for not wanting this enough. For being broken in some fundamental way. He's not crying, refuses to call it that, but it's damn close.

He still doesn’t say what he wants to say. His words are too tangled up.

Nines has to put a steadying hand on his back and ask him to breathe, and even then it takes Gavin a long time to calm down. He still can't look at Nines, can't bear to face the disappointment or disapproval on his face.

He thinks about the last few boyfriends. Tries very specifically not to think about the one that didn't want to take no for an answer, but he can’t help it, because it’s all like a twisted slideshow playing over and over in some dark corner of his head. There’s a spectrum of bad, because the best of it had still left him feeling cold and alone, and the worst of it —

The worst of it had made him swear off relationships altogether, because for what feels like years afterwards he couldn’t get rid of the sensation of harsh, unwanted hands on him, touching and holding him down as if somehow that would make him want it. Sometimes he still wakes up feeling them, has to scrub the ghost of that sensation from his skin with a hot shower and picture it swirling down the drain along with the suds.

In a way, it wasn’t worse than what he sometimes put himself through on purpose, to see if this time, this one time he could make it work, but it had left him with the broken shards of his fragile trust embedded in every vulnerable corner of his chest.

Nines would never be like that, he knows he wouldn't, but he most certainly can and will leave Gavin by the wayside, just like everyone else.

They don't talk that night, not even after Gavin's calmed down. He kicks Nines out, begging to be left alone for a while. Partially for space to compose himself after his embarrassing outburst, and partially to spare himself the pain of having to do this face to face. It'll be easier if Nines just sends him a text later, some stock version of 'sorry but I need more from a relationship, guess I'll see you around'. Gavin's dealt with it all before, and it honestly hurts less when he doesn't have to pretend to be unfazed. He just hopes that him and Nines can stay friends. That his visits don't dwindle off into nothing over time when he's inevitably distracted by someone else, someone who makes him feel whole and happy, someone who will give him every part of themselves.

And shit, the worst part is, he's not even angry because he _wants_ that. He wants Nines happy more than he wants himself happy, and ain't that something else. Ironic, maybe.

He waits for a text. Curls up on the couch instead of his bed because the place is less quiet with the tv on. He sighs when Piper climbs on top of him and pets her silver fur, soothed by her purring. He wonders if he’s destined for this forever, just a lifetime of nothing but his empty apartment and progressively larger numbers of cats.

Reality doesn’t do a good job of intruding on his bubble of misery. He tries to remember the things he’d been told; you’ll find someone else, you’ll find someone willing to work with your limits, or another ace that will enjoy the same kind of relationship you would. Only he doesn’t want someone else, he wants Nines. He doesn’t have the time or the energy or desire to be forever on the lookout and to forever set himself up for a million new rejections, each more painful than the last. Mumbled excuses. Or anger. Or a half-hearted text sent after a disastrous breakdown.

He never gets one from Nines, and finally falls asleep with his face buried in a pillow.

The next morning, he wakes up to soft, polite knocking at his door. And no one knocks like that except Nines, so he sighs and steels himself and wipes his face on the blanket before letting him in.

The first words out of Nines' mouth are an apology.

"I didn't mean to upset you," he says quietly, gray eyes downcast, hands behind his back. "I realize now I should've talked about my intentions first. I won't do that again."

Gavin's still trying to process all of this when Nines asks to be let in.

Numbly, he steps aside. "What are you doing here?" he asks finally, sharper than he intended.

And Nines just looks at him, a warm blue blush coloring his cheeks. "I'm sorry. I'll go if you want, but I - I suppose I wanted to check in and make sure you were okay. I was worried. And I - missed you."

Gavin tires to break this down into individual statements for processing. Nines is sorry. He was worried. He -

He missed Gavin.

Something aches deep in his chest.

He clears his throat. "I guess I'm sorry, too. Didn't mean to freak out on you last night."

Nines frowns. "You didn't 'freak out'. I overstepped a boundary without asking, misinterpreted how you felt, and projected my own desires on to you." He fidgets, as much as he is capable of fidgeting. "I hope I haven't ruined things. I… like the time we spend together."

Gavin sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He walks to the fridge, cracks open a fizzy raspberry soda, and sits heavily on the couch. He's not exactly sure what to say. He thinks it all came out of him one way or another last night.

"So what do you want?" he asks finally. Nines sits next to him, his arms crossed low over his middle. Gavin can tell because he still can't quite force himself to meet his eyes.

"To apologize," Nines reiterates. "I should have asked for permission."

"Yes," Gavin snaps, "You should've." But then buries his face in his hands, because he's not sure it would've changed anything. If Nines’ hadn’t spotted his discomfort last night, he might’ve allowed things to progress further. It wouldn’t have been the first time Gavin forced himself through something he didn’t want. Not every partner was as perceptive as him.

The soda sits, forgotten, on the coffee table. He watches the pink bubbles rise to the surface.

He sighs, gritting his teeth, tries to soften his voice. "You didn't know. I'm not angry."

"It's okay if you are."

"Well, I'm not."

It's not strictly true, although the only person he's actually angry at is himself. Why is he always like this? Why is he always the common denominator when things fall apart? Even when he's trying, he breaks things without meaning to. They could have something _good_ if Gavin could just - get over himself. But he knows he can't, he's tried so many times and each time it left him a little more broken, and if he did that with _Nines_ he's not sure he'd ever be able to breathe normally again.

"Gavin?"

Gavin rubs his face. "You done apologizing?"

"Yes. Now I'd like to ask what you want."

Gavin chances a look at his face. Nines looks serious, but his face is soft, troubled without being overly anxious or angry, although perhaps he's reading too much into it. "How do you mean?"

Nines meets his eyes. Gavin's always liked their steely color, warmer than it should be. "I like spending time with you. I made the mistake of making you uncomfortable, but I don't want things between us to change." He hesitates. "You're my friend."

Gavin cocks an eyebrow. Because it's not like Nines can just turn his feelings off, whatever they are.

They always end up ruining things. He's tried this song and dance before, too. People say they want to stick around, until they don't. Until it's too painful, until they miss the intimacy, until they realize that they’d lied to themselves when they said they were okay with this.

But then, what's his alternative? Kick Nines out, tell him to get lost and find other friends? He can't, even if he wanted to. Even with all this new hurt, every fiber of him wants Nines to stay. He likes the way they fit together. He likes how warm this used to make him feel. He even liked their kiss, before all the panic had slammed into him. Nines tasted cool and neutral and maybe a little synthetic, like bottled water. But it was a clean taste, and he'd been very - very gentle, and when Gavin actually thinks about it, his hands hadn't wandered.

His cheeks heat, because he understands wanting that part, just not the whole rest.

Even though it's going to hurt like hell when Nines finally finds himself someone else, he can't say no. It's not even that Nines is his only friend. He's the best friend Gavin's ever had.

He lets Nines stay, although he's still wary of sitting too close. It takes them a couple of nights to settle into a comfortable routine again.

It's not quite back to normal, because Nines keeps his hands mostly to himself in a way he hadn’t before; he doesn't tuck Gavin into his side like he used to, doesn’t lean against him like a puppy when they watch their movie, doesn’t hug Gavin goodbye the way he’s been doing lately. And Gavin mostly appreciates it, because if more contact is just going to make Nines forget himself, or make him long for things to be different between them then - it's for the best.

Still. He can't help but feel a little like he's lost something, and he hates that. He knows they should talk about it some more, that he’s left things unsaid.

His therapist agrees, but Gavin has mastered the art of bottling things up until they leak out in inconvenient ways. He's gotten better at not doing that, but this is one thing he can't let out just yet. At least until the night he falls asleep on Nines' shoulder.

It's completely an accident. They've both had a long day at work. Gavin eats too many slices of Hawaiian pizza, and his eyes start to drift shut halfway through the movie. When he opens them on a panicked breath, he's got a warm, solid arm under his cheek. Nines is very still, his hands folded politely in his lap, but he's resting his chin on top of Gavin's head.

He smells soapy, because he's meticulous about his showers and loves the scent of sandalwood. His black turtleneck must be cashmere or something, because it’s maddeningly soft.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, an alarm bell is going off, but he can't make himself let go. He inhales deeply, letting that pleasant smell lull him somewhere into a half dream. In it, he thinks he feels the ghost of fingertips in his hair, warm and tentative. They feel nice, and he hums, drifting in that pleasant feeling until there's nothing else.

"Gav?" Nines whispers. "You should go to bed. Your back is going to hurt in the morning."

"Mhm," Gavin says, staying exactly where he is.

"Gavin."

"Phck off," he mumbles. Nines chuckles, the sound rich and warm. He doesn't say anything else.

When he wakes up properly, it's morning. Pale light is filtering in through the slatted blinds. He's lying stretched out half on top of Nines, tucked into his side like a sardine in a can, fingers curled into the fabric of his sweater.

His back does in fact hurt, but there's a warm hand resting low on his spine, making some of the ache dissolve before he has a chance to process it. Nines’ pinky rests against his bare skin where his shirt had ridden up.

It's not a very platonic way to wake up, and Gavin's heart jumps to his throat for what feels like a myriad of reasons. The worst part is, he doesn't want to move. He's so warm; there's a blanket around his shoulders, and Nines radiates heat. He smells good. He feels safe, he realizes. He feels safe.

And a little guilty, because he's definitely the one overstepping now. He should've moved last night, before it got to this point, but now that he’s here he’s almost dizzy with how much he just wants to stay.

The arm around him tightens. Nines comes out of stasis, gives Gavin a sleepy look. Stutters out an immediate apology, trying to sit up. Gavin feels himself going beet red. They both fall silent, and Gavin's calculating of avenues of escape, but also all he wants to do is sink back into his arms, to chase that feeling of contentment.

He curls in on himself, simmering with frustration.

Nines gets up quickly. "I'm sorry. I'll leave you alone," he says. "I - I'll make breakfast."

Gavin's mouth quirks. Nines defaults to making breakfast when he's stressed. It's an odd quirk for a detective android to have, but he has to admit that he’s homed his pancake skills to an excellent level. But as Nines makes to leave, Gavin finds himself telling him to wait. He meets his gaze, the warm gray of it, and suddenly feels like he _has_ to talk, or his chest will explode.

Nines sits back down. Right next to him, right within reach. Or maybe just out of it.

Gavin looks down at his hands. Rubs his face, because - now that he's supposed to talk, he's actually out of words again. They all feel weird and get stuck in his throat.

"Gavin," Nines says gently. "You don't have to -"

Gavin tunes out whatever Nines is saying to him. Instead, he's thinking about how broken he'd felt growing up, and how many good relationships he'd ruined over the years. Some of them carelessly, long after he'd spun out of control, some of them on purpose before they could implode in his face, scrambling for some semblance of control. And some of them, just like this, just by being himself. It didn't feel fair. He wasn’t supposed to be like this. And maybe fair wasn't what he deserved, but -

" -just as you are, and you don't have to change anyth- Gavin?"

Gavin looks up, and Nines' expression quirks. "Wow. Not a word of that penetrated at all, did it?"

Despite himself, Gavin shoots him a wobbly smile. "Nope, not a single one."

Nines shakes his head softly. "You're hopeless."

And Gavin winces, because that feels like it could have more than one meaning. "I know."

Nines shakes his head again. "If you'd bothered listening, you'd know that I'm used to it by now."

That… was part of the problem. Gavin didn't want Nines - or anyone else - to be 'used' to him. But he made the effort to focus, because Nines still wasn't done.

"I like you," Nines says finally, his voice low. "I like you just as you are. I don't need anything else if you don't want it, I just - I like this. You."

Gavin fights down a giggle. "Say again that thing you like?"

Nines grimaces and throws a pillow at his face. The giggles dissolve into laughter as Gavin buries his face in it. It's somehow comforting to see Nines struggling for words as much as he is.

"The night I kissed you," Nines says, and Gavin freezes. "I wanted to. I thought it's what you wanted. But I don't _need_ it, Gav. I was happy before. I'm happy now. The only thing that makes me less happy is knowing that I - I broke something between us." His voice hitches, and Gavin looks up, swallowing hard. "I made you not trust me anymore. I don't know how to get that back."

"I trust you," Gavin says, because it's true. Nines has always been good to him. Always. "I just want to give you everything you need and I - I can't."

Nines just stares at him, face impassive, LED slowly spinning yellow. "I'm not sure I understand."

Gavin grimaces again, rubs his hands together like he's trying to warm them even though it's 76 degrees outside. "I, uh, you know. The whole. You know." he gestures vaguely. "Sex thing."

Nines shoots him a flat look. "The sex thing."

"Yeah. Which I-"

"The one you've said repeatedly you don't want when you cried into my shirt that night. That 'sex thing?’"

"Okay, first off, I wasn't cry-"

"Gavin."

Gavin sighs. Looks at the floor between his feet. "Yes, that."

Nines shrugs. "I told you, Gav. I could take it or leave it."

"But-"

"I know you hate listening to me, but if you just cleaned your ears-"

"Nines-"

Nines reaches out to cup Gavin's face between his hands, probably smushing his cheeks harder than he has to. It doesn’t make Gavin feel very dignified. "I know this is hard for you to understand, you don't have to be anything you're not for me. I like-no. I love you as you are."

Gavin's pretty sure he's gone into cardiac arrest. He has no idea what his heart is doing, or his suddenly burning eyes. He wipes at them furiously, sniffing with a muttered 'allergies.' He tries to hide his face, and Nines just tucks it into his shoulder. "Sorry. Too soon?"

Gavin almost laughs. He's not supposed to react like this. No one ever does. There's awkwardness, disappointment, there's slipping away but pretending nothing has changed, there's - there's anger sometimes, and force. And feeling slimy, violated, and alone. The closest he'd ever had to acceptance were the ones that wanted to stay friends, and - they did, sometimes, but the closeness was never there anymore, and it was something Gavin craved more than he cared to admit. And here was Nines, holding him, rubbing his back, his lips softly touching his hair, and - he said he loved him. Which is ridiculous. No one had _ever_ loved Gavin before in his entire life. It wasn't possible. He is not a lovable person. And every time it had been close to that, maybe, it came with all those strings attached. Not like this. Not with 'I love you as you are.'

"Do you need a tissue?" Nines says when he's sufficiently annoyed with how wet his turtleneck suddenly is.

Gavin shakes his head. He leans away to look at Nines' face. "Damn allergies."

"I'll be sure to leave some antihistamines by your plate." He thumbs away a stray - it's not a tear, it's whatever you call it when your face leaks from all the pollen or whatever - from Gavin's face. "Pancakes?"

Gavin nods numbly, still reeling a little. He needs to think.

He sits on the couch while Nines goes to make food. He tries to do that thinking thing, but his last two remaining braincells are still trying to process the imprint of Nines’ hands against his skin and the casual way he’d tossed out the word ‘love’.

It's a while before he can get his legs under himself, and goes to find Nines in the kitchen.

He's plating pancakes and fresh fruit, and he's taken his turtleneck off. He's left it hanging neatly over the back of a chair. Instead of sitting, Gavin approaches the counter and wraps his arms around him from behind, presses his cheek to his back. Nines freezes for a second, then reaches down to place his hand over Gavin's wrist.

"I've missed you," he says, and this time there's relief in his voice.

"Idiot," Gavin mutters. "You've jinxed it, and now you're going to be stuck with me forever."

"Oh, no," Nines deadpans.

Gavin laughs against his shirt. Nines turns so they're standing chest to chest, rests his hands on Gavin's waist, watching his face for signs of discomfort. He's tall. Really, stupidly tall, but it's kinda nice because it's really easy to hug him this way. Or, perhaps more accurately, to be hugged. Nines wraps around him easily, and frankly it's a bit unfair how good he is at this. He's warm, heavy, doesn't shy away from the pressure. He smells like sandalwood and pancakes, and his shirt is soft under Gavin's nose. When he leans away, he finds he's suddenly feeling sleepy.

Nines tips his chin up and sighs. "One day you're going to have a normal sleeping schedule, so help me ra9."

"One day," Gavin mumbles. "Hey, Nines?"

"Hmm?"

"Is it - okay if I kiss you? We don't have to, but I like - oh."

Nines leans in slowly, his eyes never leaving Gavin's, and presses a chaste, tight lipped kiss to his mouth. Then twitches, relaxes, and does it one more time. This time it's soft, a familiar breath of pressure and - maple syrup? It's gentle and unassuming, lasts longer, turns into a third kiss when they find they both have trouble breaking apart. Gavin's entire being feels like it's humming when Nines runs his fingers through his hair.

Piper weaves between their legs.

The come perilously close to ruining breakfast, but the pancakes that do survive make a good meal. They sit side by side, fingers interlaced, a part of Gavin still trembling with a certainty that this is not possible, it's not happening, this isn't allowed. Past experience does not inspire confidence. But Nines looks happier than he’s looked in forever, a light smile on his face.

As days, and eventually weeks pass, the tightness in his chest begins to subside.

He still has a panic attack (or two) months later, convinced he's living a fever dream, or worse, that he's going to ruin this, but these bouts of uncertainty and fear come less often. Nines is patient and kind. He's also an asshole, so he never lets Gavin forget, or get away with not taking care of himself. Or with skipping breakfast or sleep, or overworking himself, or spiraling too hard when he hits another low point.

He drops by all the time, often staying the night. They sleep together, Nines usually half on top of Gavin, pinning him to the soft mattress. It lends itself to some lazy mornings before either of them are fully awake. They cuddle under the sheets, Nines pretending to drool against Gavin's shoulder.

They work.

At home, they watch dumb movies, read, spend their evenings together. Gavin cooks, Nines feeds Piper. He spends less and less time at his own home, stays the night far more often than not.

They do a lot of cuddling, probably more than Gavin’s ever done in his life. It never feels like there’s an expectation of more, Nines makes sure of it. He just makes Gavin feel warm. Appreciated. Protected.

They adopt two more cats when Nines finally moves in, because they figure Piper needs the company. One day Connor comes by for a visit, and Gavin hides in the bathroom for almost an hour before he can come out, his chest in a vice. But whatever misgivings Connor has about their relationship, he doesn't voice them. He watches Gavin carefully, but settles on petting the cats and chatting idly about work and about Hank.

Before he leaves, he shakes Gavin's hand, his grip just an edge too hard, eyes steelier than Nines’ could ever be. The warning in them is more than apparent. Gavin's cheekbone throbs like he can still feel where Connor hit him to knock him out that one time, years ago now.

It doesn't feel like the beginning of a friendship, but oddly enough, it seems to be. A tentative one, perhaps, but a friendship nonetheless. The next time they see each other, Connor greets Gavin first, and they make awkward, stilted conversation for almost five minutes before Nines comes to rescue him.

Things get better, little by little. It takes time to reforge the few connections he hadn’t ruined beyond all repair, but having Nines at his side makes it easier.

Somehow it doesn't hit him though, not until Nines calls him his boyfriend to some stranger's face in a coffee shop. It's been almost a year and it slams into him like a ton of bricks, because _it's been almost a year_ and they're still together, and Nines still loves him. It's the longest he's ever dated anyone, and Nines was still here, still happy, he hadn't pushed for anything Gavin was uncomfortable with, didn't even look like he ever _wanted_ to push for it. He's just - content. They're both content, happy in the bubble they've carved out for themselves.

That night they're curled up in bed together along with all three cats, and it's the first time he tells Nines that he loves him. The first time it feels safe.

The words hang in the silence between them, soft and still uncertain, smaller than he’d like.

Nines just kisses the back of his neck with a low chuckle.

"I know," he mutters, but Gavin doesn’t relax until he hears a soft, "I love you too, Gav."

Gavin knows better than to try and argue by now.

 

 

 

 


End file.
